


I Yearn

by leedeeloo



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, M/M, bathtime :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: An aftercare scene. There's a massage and a bath.
Relationships: Doctor Sung/Havve Hogan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	I Yearn

**Author's Note:**

> someone else posted some fucknasty on tumblr and i thought "hey
> 
> me too"

The after was a long drawn out sigh. Letting out a breath that was being held. The rope unwinding from around his body, leather straps unfastening, keys unlocking and it all coming off, was a weight off Sung, a release.

He always decompressed by slumping down. Falling against the bed, against Havve, one of these was preferred because he knew it would always catch him (it was Havve; one time he fell right off the bed, Havve yanking him back up before he hit the ground). 

He kept giving these luxurious breaths out, face down and hugging the pillow, legs splayed. Havve was moving somewhere in the room; they both knew they had the time to clean up before Sung needed any aftercare. He liked being left alone for a bit, a break from stimulus, from being pushed to his breaking points. The small of his back was getting cool, he imagined the air wicking heat off of him from there out, moving outwards over his shoulders, his legs. He wiggled his toes, felt the tendons in his feet move against the sheets. 

The bed dipped down, and Havve’s hand was right in that cold spot, which made Sung remember how warm he really was, Havve’s hand like ice in comparison. He moved his hand in circles, slowly moving up Sung’s spine. Sung hummed, content, stretched and kicked his legs lightly. 

Once Havve reached the top of his back, he added his other hand, firm rubbing across Sung’s shoulders; they were always tense, tight, even without the added stress and performance of a scene. He mumbled something like a thank you, and Havve leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the back of his head. 

It occurred to Sung he’d had his eye shut for a while now.

“Nn,” he mumbled, not quite a word, but it still got Havve’s attention. He stopped rubbing. “Think I’m gonna fall asleep,” he said, “start a bath for me when I do?” And he couldn’t see Havve nod, but he felt it. Like it pushed the air. He made the same noise he did to get Havve’s attention, and committed to being cared for, hugging the pillow with a little more gusto.

Havve continued rubbing down Sung’s back, pressing personhood back into him. He went down one leg at a time, careful not to tickle, stretching Sung slowly. He went up his back once more, knowing he needed it, and started on his arms, gently unfolding them, kissing Sung’s hands as he massaged them. 

Sung was splayed out on his back on the bed, Havve’s hands warmed from his skin. He rolled onto his side, and Havve laid next to him, propped up on an elbow and hovering over him. 

_ How did you sleep? _

“Didn’t,” Sung replied simply, hands curled by his face. “Could you go start it? I’ll be fine by myself.”

Havve leaned forward, kissed him on the temple. There was the tiniest pang of doubt. Sung turned his head, meeting Havve’s lips with his own. 

“I mean it. It still feels like you’re touching me.” He opened his eye, twisted his shoulders, exposing his chest. “You’ll just be upstairs, anyway. If I drop suddenly, you’ll know.”

Havve nodded, gingerly touched Sung’s chest, and kissed him again. As he came off the bed, Sung rolled onto his front, hugging the pillow again. Without him even asking, Havve pulled the sheet over Sung’s lower half, cool center of his lower back still exposed. 

He drifted once Havve left the room. There was a vague awareness of the water running upstairs as he rolled around his bed. He held his arm up, rubbed it from elbow to wrist, amazed at how Havve made him so pliable. He stretched, wriggling, yawned as if he’d woken up from a nap. His joints felt loose, well-lubricated. His head wasn’t clear, was still in that fuzzy post sex bliss; it always took him so long to get out of that, sometimes he’d still have it a day later, his head and body filled with cotton, wanting to be held. He sat up, stood, slowly, seeing if that feeling would unravel, or if his stomach would do flips and his heart would fall into it for who knew how long.

He couldn’t tell. Still wasn’t sure as he went to his closet, pulled out a bathrobe, wrapped it around his body. 

The water shut off, and he knew that feeling was gone. 

It was weird. He never walked around the house barefoot. It felt dirty, like he was shouting to the world that he’d just had sex; it felt as exhibitionistic as walking out naked onto the streets. He wrapped his arms around his middle, acutely aware that the robe was all he was wearing. 

Near the top of the stairs, and he almost walked right into Havve, carrying the gaudy robe that hung in the bathroom. 

Sung smiled. This tight, squinty, genuinely happy smile, with no thought put towards how it looked. Closed mouth, top lip pressing down. He thought it made his jaw look weird, he tried not to do it in public. 

“Thank you,” Sung said as Havve stepped to the side to let him pass. For that, and for coming to get him. For coming and bringing something for him to wear. 

The bathroom had this nice, light, lavender scent to it; he expected the bubbles in the tub to be purple. It wasn’t as romantic as it could be, harsh light over the mirror, but it still made Sung’s heart flutter, a smile twitch to life on his mouth. He stepped in, waited for the door to click shut to let the robe drop off his shoulders. He knew Havve was in the room with him. That was how this worked.

He looked forward to this just as much as the sex. 

The water was nice and cool, a deep blue under the froth. He’d warm up the water anyway; if it started hot he’d make it boil soon enough.

He sank in, porcelain cooling his skin, again that one cool spot of his lower back radiating out a lower temperature. His legs bent, he pressed his face to the side of the tub, let his arms float at his sides, and Havve played with his hair. 

It was their usual routine. Sung needed to be pampered, especially after rough scenes, and he had to wash off anyways. It just happened this way, that Havve would draw him a bath, wash him, ease away any bruises, rub the stiffness out of him. Every little injury Havve put on him, he’d drag his fingers over, scent of soap healing them faster than anything Sung could engineer. 

As unnecessary as it was, he loved Havve washing his hair, and he’d asked him to do it so much before, he didn’t need to anymore. 

Havve would twirl pieces of Sung’s hair around his fingers as he worked in shampoo, conditioner. Just for the pleasure of feeling the curls, and it made Sung’s chest feel light, knowing Havve enjoyed it too. He never filled the tub all the way, knowing he’d bring the showerhead down from the wall, water pressure low and temperature damn near ice cold to rinse Sung off. 

He’d stay in the tub as the water drained out, rinsing the last of the suds off his body, out of the tub, any glitter or flower petals swirling down the drain. 

There was a different feel to Sung being nude and Havve being clothed, far different than what had happened to warrant this. There was no flush in Sung’s cheeks, no erotic shame in his body. 

He took Havve’s hand, finally warm to him, and placed it on his chest. On his chest, right over his core. 

Everything about him, exposed and vulnerable, literally under Havve’s thumb. Sung couldn’t think of an injury he’d sustained in at least the last decade, that hadn’t been at Havve’s hands. His torso was a patchwork of scars from from days like this, a twisted glee from getting them and seeing them after.

Havve took him by the elbow, made sure he didn’t slip stepping out of the tub. 

Sung saw the contrast between them in the mirror, just for a second before pressing himself against Havve’s chest, holding the hand he’d placed on his chest. He saw how small he looked; frail, almost, by comparison. This Frankenstein’s creation of a man, strong and smart, willing and able to tear him apart at the drop of a hat.

He’d never felt safer than when he was alone in a room with him.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from my friends response to reading this.  
> as always, please let me know what you think, either here or on my tumblr, sunghausen! yes i changed my url again.


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